


Hidden Blessings

by Guanin



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canon Divergence, Confessions, M/M, Silly, turns serious
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-15
Updated: 2016-12-15
Packaged: 2018-09-08 19:40:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8858200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Guanin/pseuds/Guanin
Summary: Jim drinks some eggnog, unaware that it has been laced with a drug that prompts him to go to the person who he is most attracted to, which turns out to be the person he would have least expected.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Set in a canon-divergent season 2, in which only episode 1 happened.

Jim wasn’t usually one for eggnog. The egg-milk combination made the whole thing taste like liquid pudding. But it was the season and all that, and it had rum in it, so why not? He bought a bottle, drank half of it that evening out of listlestness and boredom, and rolled into bed around midnight to get woken up by his 5:45am alarm. After fumbling with the digital clock to switch it off, he swiftly got out of bed, went to the bathroom, and poured himself a bowl of cereal. As he did so, he noticed a strange sensation in his limbs. He felt tingly. Light. Not light-headed, just… Light. Like the slimmest pad of air lay between his feet and the floor. Shaking his head, he continued to pour, stiffling a yawn. Sleepiness. That’s all it was. He just needed some food, some coffee, and he’d be back to his usual, grumpy self. Another lovely morning to look forward to. 

The wheat flakes spilled over the bowl. Great, now his woe is me moodiness was making him spill food. Well, it wasn’t like cereal was expensive. Coffee. Must brew coffee. 

The coffee brewed, he sat at his dining table and ate his now soggy cereal while nursing his cup. Halfway through, a peculiar stray thought entered his mind.

_I wonder if Oswald likes coffee with cream or black?_

He stopped mid-sip. The hell? Since when did he care how Oswald liked coffee? Damn, he must be sleepier than he thought. His mind was drifting to all sorts of insane places. He better make sure to go to bed at a decent time tonight. 

Later, a few minutes into his drive to work, the intrusive thought reemerged.

_Maybe Oswald prefers tea. He was drinking tea that day at the club when I barged in and… Fuck, I shouldn’t have done that. No wonder he made me do that favor for him. I’ve been treating him like shit. I’ve been horrible._

He braked so hard at the stoplight that the car behind him nearly rear-ended him. 

What the fuck? Okay. Fine. So he felt a little bad about what had happened. He did have a conscience. And he probably could have just asked Oswald for the invitation to the Foxglove. But he had been so tired and worried and hungry. He really should have eaten something. What did it matter, anyway? Oswald knew that they weren’t friends. At least he knew now. Jim absolutely didn’t want to be friends. Not with him. He wasn’t his father, as much as he had yearned to be once upon a time. Cutting deals with a mobster every once in a while, fine, but actual friendship with Oswald was strictly off the table. It had to be. It was much better for Oswald to have that clear. Their interactions were strictly business. Nothing else.

Once at work, as he filled in the last few lines from his paperwork for his last case, it happened yet again, this time the thought so disturbing that he dropped his pen in horror.

_Oswald has such nice hands. And those eyes. God, his smile is so pretty. And he’s so intelligent. I love his brain._

He reeled back in his chair, breath quickening in his chest. What the hell was that?!

“Are you okay, Jim?” Harvey asked, peering at him with concern from his own desk.

Jim shut his mouth, forcing his breathing back into control.

“Yeah, I’m fine. I just… stubbed my toe.”

Harvey didn’t look fully convinced, but he let it go, returning to his own paperwork. Jim picked up his pen again, scrambling to remember what he had been in the midst of writing, but even after rereading the last passage on the form three times, he couldn’t focus on what the words meant. 

He did not find Oswald attractive. Alright, maybe a little. Okay, so the man was pretty. One might even call him beautiful. It was an objective observation. It didn’t mean anything. He could have a positive opinion about someone’s appearance without wanting to do anything with them or talk to them or hold their hand—

Whoa! 

When had he ever wanted to hold his hand? He didn’t want any such thing, just because his gaze had strayed once or twice when asking Oswald for something. The man was hot. What was he supposed to do? Not look at him when while speaking to him? Tell him to stop smiling like Jim brightened his day by simply walking into the room, like he wanted nothing more than for Jim to smile back and drink champagne and ask him out to dinner? These were not things that Jim would ever contemplate doing. Ever. So what was the point of wondering if Oswald liked Italian food or if it was just a requisite of his day job? 

God, Jim was lonely. Lee left him months ago, the right thing for both of them, really, but his soul felt so empty and Oswald was so pretty and wonderful and he wanted to be with Jim, he was sure of it. Unless it had been too long and Oswald had moved on. They hadn’t contacted each other in months and Oswald had such little friendly feeling left for him when Jim had asked to recover his job. Jim’s fault, really. He’d squandered so many golden opportunities, alienated Oswald when he should have shown his appreciation by going to his parties and making him dinner.

Jim dropped his pen again, staring at the paper in front of him without seeing it. What the hell was happening? He didn’t yearn for Oswald, much less while filling out paperwork about a murder. Something was wrong. That light, floaty feeling he’d woken up with today hadn’t gone away, a strange dreaminess gliding in his mind. Had he accidentally taken something? Had someone slipped him a drug?

“Harvey.”

Harvey looked up expectantly.

“What is it?” he asked when Jim stayed silent.

Jim opened his mouth, a worried realization on the tip of his tongue. 

“I have to go,” he said, standing up and grabbing his coat from the back of the chair. “I’ll be right back.”

“What? Where are you going?”

“I have to do something.”

“We haven’t even been here an hour.”

Jim ignored him, rushing down the stairs to the parking garage. Best not tell him anything. Harvey wouldn’t understand. But Jim had to see Oswald. Had to know if he still had a chance.

A small altercation in the hallway caught his attention for a second. 

“But I love you,” one of the forensic technicians told her boss. “I just never had the guts to tell you before.”

The hapless man held up his hands in front of him as if to ward himself from her, looking utterly shocked by the declaration.

“Shelly, this is not appropriate. Where is this coming from? Look, I’m married…”

Their voices faded as Jim rushed past them. None of his business. Asking Oswald out, that was his business. 

`````````````````````````````````

There was a strange feeling in the air. Oswald wasn’t much for having “bad feelings” or dreading that something bad was going to happen without any evidence, but today Gotham seemed a tad odder than usual. It was only 9am, yet he had already seen two people crying their hearts out on the sidewalk lamenting over a long lost love, a couple screaming that they hated each other and wanted a divorce so that they could be with other people, and another woman bending down on one knee proposing marriage to another despite her irate girlfriend standing right next to her. The later had just yanked the proposer to her feet and they had begun to pummel each other as Oswald’s car drove by. The woman who had been proposed to hadn’t looked particularly enthused, either, more horrified and confused. That had been rather stupid of the proposer. Had she even been in her right mind? There was no sense pushing things when the feelings weren’t mutual. Oswald had learned that harsh lesson himself.

No. 

He wouldn’t waste any more time thinking wistfully about a man who hadn’t spoken to him in months. And when he had, it had been only for business. Which Jim had resented the consequences of despite knowing precisely what he was getting into and what the risks were. Honestly, Jim’s bitter mind always found some convluted way for everything to be Oswald’s fault. Why had he ever indulged the hope that he might have finally found a friend who he could trust and spend time with? Truly one of the most foolhardy decisions he had ever made. But he was over that now. If Jim deigned to contact him for another begrudging favor, then great. If not, that worked just as well.

His chest pinched with a slight pang. He brushed it off, pulling up the Snake Game on his phone to distract himself, then swiftly shut it and shoved it back into pocket, tapping furiously on the armrest. He didn’t need a distraction from Jim Gordon. This absurd yearning would fade soon enough. It hardly lasted these days. time might not heal or wounds, but it certainly helped lessen their sting.

Effectively, by the time that his car pulled up at his favorite restaurant for lunch, Oswald had moved on to strategizing for his next meeting with the union leaders and gave Jim no more thought. He might have gladly continued in this fashion for the rest of the day, yet the man himself decided to make this the time when he finally broke his silence via text message.

_I need to see you._

Huh. Jim. Well. Wasn’t that a surprise. 

Uncertain about whether it was a good one or bad one, he replied,

_So nice to hear from you. I’ll be back home around 6._

_Can it be sooner? Like now? I want to talk to you._

Oswald frowned at his screen. A case might be fueling Jim’s sense of urgency, but “I want to talk to you”? That felt oddly non-business-like. 

_I have some time now. I’m at The Angry Crab._

Jim didn’t reply, which probably meant that he was on his way. What could be so urgent? He couldn’t think of any recent murders that would catch Jim’s dogged brand of attention, although Jim did have a habit of making a mountain out of a molehill if his precious pride and sense of duty were at stake. 

About fifteen minutes later, Jim barged through the entrance, zip lining straight toward Oswald’s booth in the back. His expression was surprising, to say the least. Had Jim ever looked happy to see him before? Or happy at all? Oswald searched his memory, but couldn’t think of a single instance. And yet, a smile was brimming on Jim’s face as he approached. It faded slightly as he arrived at the table, usurped by a sudden expression of contrition. That couldn’t be right. Jim contrite? While looking at him? But there it was. Right in front of him. He couldn’t not see it.

“Oswald,” Jim said, voice soft, yet eager. 

Oswald’s habitual greeting froze on his tongue as he frowned at Jim in absolute consternation before dissembling, opening his mouth to ask a polite variant of “what the fuck”, but Jim took advantage of his pause to continue speaking as he sat down across the booth.

“I came as soon as I could. This couldn’t wait. Well, I suppose it could have, but it’s long overdue. Too long. So I needed to come straight here and tell you.”

The words rushed out of his mouth with the mad urgency and earnest intensity of a suitor in a movie about to declare his love for the girl who was minutes away from marrying another man. Shit, that stupid scene in the street had put him in the mood for romantic notions. Best banish those immediately.

“This is rather unexpected,” Oswald said, collecting himself. “What’s the big emergency?”

“I’m sorry.”

Huh?

“I shouldn’t have been rude to you or threatened to leave you to Maroni or grabbed you that time. I’m sorry about that. I know it might be too much to ask for you to forgive me, but I was hoping, maybe…”

Oswald stared. What was happening? Was Jim drunk? No, his speech wasn’t slurred, his vision was clear, and his motions were steady when he walked over to the table. What on earth had occurred of such wrenching, overwhelming proportions to prompt Jim to unburden his conscience? Oh dear God, was he dying? Wait, would Jim even bother with him if he was dying?

“Um, thank you for the apology,” Oswald said, doing an Oscar worthy job of not showing the alarm screaming inside him. “I appreciate it. But, I confess, I’m surprised.” Shocked. Befuddled. Terrified. “You’ve never seemed to care about how you treat me before.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

There he went again.

“Yes. You’ve just said.”

Jim placed his arms on the table, hands splayed on the surface. One might say that they were reaching for him. Perhaps even in a pleading fashion. Like his eyes, boring into him with such abject need for forgiveness. Okay, there was no way that Jim would be looking at him with those sad, puppy eyes unless something was enormously wrong.

“Jim, what’s going on? Are you alright?”

“I’m fine. Well, that is, if you do forgive me.”

An unfamiliar ringtone began to sound from Jim’s pocket, yet Jim made no move to answer his cell phone.

“I think your phone’s ringing,” Oswald said after a while.

With a distinct air of annoyance, Jim took the phone, snapped it open and closed, and thrust it back in his pocket without even looking at it. 

“That could have been important,” Oswald said, not even bothering to disguise his immense confusion anymore.

“It can wait. So, I know it’s a tall order to ask you to forgive me for what a jerk I’ve been, but if you do, I would like to… I might have read this wrong and a long time has passed, but I got the impression that you liked me and… I know this is probably coming out of left field because of how I… But I like you, too. Would you consider going on a date with me?”

Oswald froze. His brain, his limbs, his ability to process thought were suddenly stuck in an error message. Did that question seriously come out of Jim’s mouth? Was he hallucinating? Had he been drugged? Before he could process the insanity of that question, a man at the front of the restaurant jumped up, scrapping his chair so loudly on the floor that everyone turned to look at him.

“I’m sorry,” he said to the equally startled woman he had been sitting with. “I can’t lie anymore. I must leave you and go to her.”

“What?!” said the woman, jumping up after him as he turned toward the door. “Who the hell is she? You can’t just end our marriage like this.”

The closing door drowned out the rest of their words. A harried waiter rushed after them as they had failed to pay their bill. Oswald turned back to Jim, who was still staring at him like nothing was more important to him than Oswald’s answer. 

Right. The soap opera scene just now. The nonsensical proposal earlier. The people weeping for their lost loves. And Jim’s shockingly out of character begging for forgiveness and asking Oswald on a date. As intensely happy as this occurrence would make him under regular circumstances, Jim was clearly not being himself. Someone was messing with the city. All these people must have been drugged. Not through the water supply, else everyone would be feeling the effects. What then? Some sort of gas they had all been exposed to? Something they ate? Drank? Jim’s phone rang again. This time, Jim grabbed it and threw it across the room. Shit. Could Jim be dangerous? Stupid question. Jim was always dangerous. But would he respond to a negative reply from Oswald poorly?

Eyeing his men sitting the next tables over, he smiled wanly at Jim, taking the plunge. 

“Jim, this is all so unexpected. And you’re right. You have treated me rather shabbily. I’m not sure if I can forgive you.”

Jim’s face fell like a deflating tire. His shoulders slumped and he fell back against the backrest, hands slipping off the table. 

“Oh,” he uttered. “I understand. Of course.”

He looked utterly crestfallen, the furthest thing from violent. Non-violence was good. But the pain in his face wasn’t what Oswald wanted at all, even if this was all a result of some drug.

“I’ll leave you alone, then,” Jim continued, getting up.

“Wait,” Oswald called as Jim began to leave, scrambling up himself. “Maybe we can talk about it some more. Can you please sit back down?”

Jim’s face lightened immediately, regaining the eagerness from earlier. 

“Of course.” 

Jim rushed to sit down.

“Can you just give me a minute? There’s this piece of business I promised to take care of after lunch and I want to make sure I get to it. I’ll be right back.”

He smiled his most charming smile. Jim smiled back, saying, “Okay.” Good.

Oswald hurried to grab Jim’s discarded phone, flipping it open as he entered the hallway leading to the bathrooms. The two missed calls were from Bullock. He wasn’t exactly keen on speaking to the man, but, well, he was Jim’s partner and best friend and the GCPD might know what was going on by now. And securing the aid of someone else who cared about Jim could only be beneficial. He clicked the call button. Bullock answered almost immediately.

“Jim, where the hell are you?”

“I’m not Jim, I’m afraid.”

“Penguin? What have you done with Jim? Why do you have his phone? If you’ve done anything to him—“

“I haven’t hurt him, you moron,” Oswald ground out, hand clenching furiously on the phone. “Jim came to see me and he’s acting very strangely. I fear that he may have been drugged. And he’s not the only one. I’ve seen some really weird behavior today.”

“Strangely how? And why do you have his phone?”

“He threw it away the second time you called him. I picked it up.”

“He what?”

“He’s not being himself.”

“Apart from throwing away his phone, you still haven’t told me how. Spill.”

Oswald hesitated, embarrassment flushing his cheeks. Under any sane circumstances when Jim wasn’t acting under the influence of some toxin, Oswald would have been overjoyed by Jim’s apology and proposal. With the shock fading and his worry rising, the ache of hearing those words set in, clenching quickly around his heart in an iron grip that stole his breath and made him clutch the wall for support as he struggled to regain the composure that remembering them had robbed from him. This was really none of Harvey’s business. Except that it had everything to do with the situation. Jim’s welfare was at stake. There was no way to hide the basic details from him without obscuring essential facts.

“He texted me, saying that he needed to speak to me urgently. So I told him where I was eating lunch and he came over and apologized. Then he… he asked me on a date.”

The phone was silent for a moment. Oswald could picture Bullock sputtering on the other side of the line, horrified that his partner would ever contemplate going on a date with him, of all people on earth.

“He what?”

“Exactly what I said.”

“No way.”

“Is this the sort of thing that I would make up?”

“A crazy, obsessive guy like you? Maybe.”

Oswald’s right hand clenched into a first at his side, fury pursing his lips. 

“The correct answer, detective, is no. And I told you that he’s not being himself.”

“No shit. It’s like his personality’s been replaced.”

Goddamnit, was it truly so outlandish that Jim might ever want to date him? Oswald deflated mournfully as he quickly examined the damning evidence for the millionth time.

“I’ve observed similarly bizarre behavior today from some others. A man walked out on his wife in the restaurant, seemingly in love with someone else. Two women were fighting over someone on the street. Some guys were crying over their long lost loves. It’s a pattern.”

“Shit. One of the forensics people confessed her love for her boss today. Very dramatic. Not like her at all. And we’ve gotten reports of other romantic nonsense. Someone must have drugged them.”

“My thoughts exactly.”

“I’ll tell the captain, and then I’m picking up Jim. Where is he? Is he still there?”

“Yes.”

Oswald peeked around the corner at the booth, where Jim was sitting looking distractedly to and fro, tapping the table with a restless finger, anxious for Oswald to get back to him.

“We’re at The Angry Crab on 7th.”

“The what?”

Oswald rolled his eyes.

“It’s a restaurant.”

“Where what? You have to fight a crab before you can eat it? Typical you’d go for a place with a weird-ass name like that. I’ll be there.”

Bullock hung up before Oswald could fume at him for being such an insufferable philistine. He tucked the phone into his pocket and headed back to the table, covering up his worry with a charming smile, which Jim returned, relief in his eyes. 

“Did you take care of the business thing?” he asked.

“Yes. I did.”

“Good.”

An undrugged Jim would have curled his lip and sneered at any mention of Oswald’s criminal enterprise, but this bizarre version looked fully at ease with it, smile still in place. What a topsy turvy world they’d been thrust into. 

“So,” Jim continued, his smile finally wilting a bit. “Have you… But you haven’t had a chance to think about it. You’ve been occupied.”

“Well, yes. Look, Jim.”

What possible discussion could they have about this when a drug was responsible for Jim’s amorous feelings? Were any of the sentiments that he had expressed today based on any truth or were they all pure fabrications that would vanish as soon as the toxic substance left his system? The need to apologize, perhaps. Jim was a good man, even if he was an asshole a lot of the time. He could feel bad about mistreating Oswald, even if he did nothing about it. That was more likely than not. But attraction? Not unless he was one of those dimwits who masked their attraction to other men by being angry about it. 

A memory of Jim sweeping his gaze down Oswald’s body at the house flashed in his mind’s eye. Hadn’t he also done so at the club? When he had so rudely grabbed him by the jacket? The faultiness of memory and urge to tamper with it couldn’t be underestimated, but he was pretty sure that had happened. Had there been other times? Damn, he couldn’t remember.

Wait. Before he went completely down the rabbit hole, this might simply be a coincidence. Again, a nefarious toxin was involved, making every word Jim spoke suspect. Now was not the time to be getting any hopes up. But he still had to entertain Jim until Bullock arrived, and the only thing that would satisfy Jim was precisely this. So… Sober Jim might not be, but Oswald could still get a few grievances off his chest.

“You have treated me very poorly,” Oswald said.

Jim’s shoulders slumped.

“Yes.”

“I wanted to be friends. True friends, not business friends who owed each other, but you threw that in my face. Then even when I started demanding favors from you still didn’t respect me. That hurt, Jim. It hurt a lot.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I know. You’ve said. But surely you can understand why it’s so hard to forgive you. We haven’t spoken in months and you just show up out of the blue… How am I to know now is when you’re being sincere?”

“I guess you can’t. And I know my promises are worthless because of everything you’ve said, but I do feel terrible about my actions. I don’t know why I chose today to tell you. I’ve felt bad about it for a long time. This morning, I just couldn’t stand it anymore. I had to tell you. I had to apologize. I needed to.”

Oswald wanted so badly to believe him. His eyes, his voice, his posture, everything indicated that Jim spoke the truth. Or that he thought that he spoke the truth. Oswald glanced down at his hands, which once again rested on the table. Those strong hands that had done so much good for so many people. Yet also so much violence. Would Jim be even one ounce so contrite when he returned to his senses? Would he acknowledge this awkward scene or bury it, ashamed of his own weakness, and never speak of it, possibly never contacting Oswald again? Was it worth considering, even for only a moment, that Jim might perhaps choose to stand by his words and prove their true sincerity? 

Oswald placed his hands on the table, half reaching, half willing to indulge in the possibility while it still existed.

“There you are.”

Oswald jumped at the words, swiftly looking to his right. Bullock. Oswald yanked his hands back, barely keeping from thrusting them under the table.

“What are you doing here?” Jim asked, frowning at Bullock.

“I’m here to take you back to the precinct. In case you’ve forgotten, it’s the middle of a work day and we have a case.”

Harvey stood over Jim, doing his best to radiate annoyance, but his worry was visible at the edges of his eyes. 

“We didn’t when we left. And I—“

“Time passes Jim. People get murdered when time passes. And unless you want me to get reamed by Captain Essen when I tell her that she has to come here and get you herself like a kid at school, you’re going to get up and come with me. Now.”

Jim scowled, looking helplessly at Oswald. He didn’t move from his seat, looking like he was spooling for a argument. Fantastic.

“Jim,” Oswald said, leaning forward. “I promise I’ll think about the date, alright? That’s a not a no. I do need time to think. You know I do after what’s happened between us.”

The anger in Jim’s brow faded into resignation and tired hope. He nodded, finally sliding out of the seat. Oswald released a long, exhausted breath. 

“Jim,” he said, stupidly just as Jim was finally turning away, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself. “I forgive you.”

Jim stared at him for a moment, then a bright smile lit up his face. Oswald smiled back, albeit with much less enthusiasm, and watched Bullock tug him away and out of the restaurant. Oswald slumped against the backrest. He shut his eyes, exhausted.

```````````````````````````

While confessing that there was no new murder case, Harvey drove Jim to the hospital, where they had been setting up a crisis area specifically to deal with the lovelorn madness gripping the city. They took Jim’s blood and tested it, confirming that he and the other patients who had been admitted all had the same toxin in their system. Questioning led to one common denominator between all the victims: Eau Claire brand eggnog.

“This is why I don’t truck with that store bought stuff,” Harvey grumbled. “Their recipes are always crap.”

Jim didn’t respond, barely aware of his surroundings, thoughts lost in wondering if Oswald liked eggnog and whether he’d appreciate Jim learning how to make it and bringing him a homemade bottle. 

Steps were taken to remove all the eggnog from the store shelves and try to find a counteragent, but the doctors assured them that the effects should just wear off eventually like with any other drug. The victims would probably be back to normal before they found anything to combat it. At a loss for what else to do, Harvey took Jim back to the precinct, where Jim immediately got online to look for date ideas. A dead body was found Uptown, but Captain Essen ordered Alvarez to take it instead so that Harvey could stay and keep an eye on Jim. Jim barely paid attention to these happenings, too busy with more important things like how much a carriage ride through Central Park cost. Although a trip to New York might be too much for a first date. If there was a first date. Oswald might decline. But he also might accept. He had forgiven him. Yes, Oswald forgave him. God, how good that felt. The shame and self-anger that chewed him up inside had lifted when Oswald spoke those wonderful words. Oswald forgave him. He really forgave him. 

The drug’s effects receded in the late afternoon. Unlike its onset, which had crept up on him like a stalking tiger, its demise was swift, the warm glow lightening his limbs dying as suddenly as sunlight beneath the horizon. Within the span of one minute, he went from reminiscing forlornly about Oswald’s beautiful eyes to frowning at a browser page filled with “best chocolate” results in horror as he realized the enormity of what he had done.

He hadn’t.

Please no.

He had. Those were memories, not a dream or hallucination. He had pleaded with Oswald to forgive him. Told him he liked him. Asked him out on a date. Oh,, God, he’d asked Oswald Cobblepot out on a date. What the fuck had he been thinking? He hadn’t been. That was the problem. Since that morning, his mind had been highjacked and focused only on making Oswald like him again, because the only thing he wanted was to hold him and kiss him and stare at his gorgeous face smiling back at him. 

Jim jerked back in his chair, standing on shaky feet, breath gusting in his lungs.

“Jim?” Harvey rushed to his side, staring at him with concern. “You okay?”

His tie was askew, hair messy as if he’d been brushing it with hands all day long with worry. Because he had been. For hours, he’d been stuck at his desk babysitting Jim in case he decided to run after Oswald again. Embarrasment burned in Jim’s stomach.

“Harvey, what happened to me?”

Harvey shut his eyes as he sagged with relief.

“Oh thank God in heaven, you’re back. You were drugged. Some clown spiked the eggnog you drank with this super fun concoction that makes people run after those they’re attracted to. Or in love with. But you’re…” Harvey frowned at Jim, lowering his voice. “You’re not in love with Penguin, are you?”

“No.”

No, he was not. That he absolutely wasn’t. But… Jim looked around. A couple of guys down in the bullpen quickly glanced away. Great. Everyone knew that he had been one of the crazy drugged ones. There was no way to keep that under wraps in this gossip mill. Noticing his discomfort, Harvey placed his hand on his shoulder, tugging him forward.

“Let’s go somewhere private, huh?”

“Yeah. That’d be great.”

They found an unused interrogation room and slipped into the partition overlooking the table through the two-way mirror to avoid the cameras. 

“Does everyone know what happened to me?” Jim asked.

“Unfortunately, yes. But they don’t know who you went to see. I planted some feelers about some mysterious barista somewhere who you might like. All they know for certain is that you left and I brought you back, so none’s the wiser.”

“Good.”

“You do like him, though.”

“What?”

Harvey rolled his eyes.

“Don’t play thick. You like Cobblepot. We ruled out the possibility of the feelings being all a fabrication of the drug. Nobody went after a random person. They were always specific, with a history. So, when did that start?”

Jim stared at Harvey with bated breath, expecting him to be angry, disgusted, something other than calm and genuinely curious.

“You hate him.”

“How is that an answer to my question?”

“Why are you so calm about this? Shouldn’t you be mad at me?”

“I was for a bit. Before you spent hours researching perfect date ideas and asking me my opinion on chocolates and harping on about how happy you are that he forgave you. I’m over it now. Fuck, I’m used to it. And you didn’t give me any shit over Fish and I know you didn’t like her. So you like him. Whatever. I didn’t really see him as your type, though. Especially the him part.”

There it was. The part he had most been dreading. He looked down, crossing his arms over his chest as if to shield himself, shoulders hunched and tight, struggling to formulate a response.

“Hey, man,” Harvey continued. “I’m not judging here. I just didn’t know that about you.”

“Uh, thanks. I don’t really…” He sucked in a deep breath. "I've never actually been with a guy.”

“Ah.”

“I know it’s stupid and you know I’m for LGBT rights, but when it comes to me, I don’t… My family is so conservative and I always liked women, too, so it was easier to just not go there.”

That was the most that he had ever expected to say to someone about this. He looked down again, gripping his arms tighter, praying that Harvey didn’t perceive how panicked he felt.

“Hey, I get it,” Harvey said. “Well, I don’t get it get it. I don’t actually have any experience in this. But figuring out who you are is hard. And this is a tough subject. But it’s clearly something you have to sort out.”

Relief swelled in Jim’s chest, immensely grateful that Harvey stuck with him despite all his crap.

“Yeah. Thanks for understanding.”

“No problem. Maybe the drug did some good after all, huh, bringing all this out?”

“I guess. I didn’t care about this when it was messing with my brain. I just, um, well, needed to go to Oswald. As cheesy as that sounds.”

He grimaced at his own phrasing. God, that sounded stupid.

“You know, this actually explains some things.”

“What?”

“Why you’re always sneery at him despite him being a valuable asset.”

“Sneery?”

“I thought it was because he’s a criminal and you’re you, but then you got all chummy with Falcone.”

“That was part of it, yes. But I didn’t really stop to think about it.”

He had just lashed out repeatedly, burying his inconvenient fascination with Oswald’s allure and eager demeanor with fury and disgust over his chosen profession. Fuck. He really did need to sort this out. No more avoiding.

The captain let him go home a couple of hours early. It wasn’t like he had been doing any work, anyway. He left the radio off in the car, allowing himself no distractions other than the rumble of traffic. Once in his apartment, he grabbed the eggnog bottle and dumped it out in the sink, tossing it in the trash. He put on the TV, but he couldn’t focus on the plotline of the show in front of him, mind drifting off to that which he had evaded for so long. Giving up, he turned off the TV, and sat in silence. The sun disappeared under the horizon and darkness crept into the apartment, but Jim didn’t get up to turn on the light. He continued to sit, to wonder, to fear. 

_I forgive you._

The drug had been purged from his system hours ago, yet those words still comforted him. Yet now his heart tightened immediately afterward, clutching at his throat as he sighed and rubbed his face, sinking back into the couch, tapping restlessly at the armrest with a tense hand. Had Oswald truly forgiven him? Or had he simply said that to ensure that Jim wouldn’t come back? 

Sometime later still, he got up, grabbed his keys and coat, and left the apartment. His hand lingered on the doorknob after shutting the door, hesitating. Maybe he should head back in. No. He needed to do this. Releasing the knob, he headed for the stairs. He drove straight to Oswald’s house in the Palisades, parked in front, and knocked on the door. The guards outside didn’t bother him, even the ones whose faces he didn’t recognize. He may not know them, but they knew him, and that their boss had a standing order to always admit him. Even after Jim had grabbed him and insulted him and threatened to leave him to die. God, Jim might do better by Oswald by staying away. But he was here, where he should be, sober this time, like he should have been the first time that he apologized. Oswald could kick him out if he wanted to. 

Gabe answered the door.

“Is he in?” Jim asked.

Gabe nodded and stepped aside to let him inside.

“Wait here while I tell him. You did quite a number on him today.”

Jim didn’t reply to Gabe’s judgy comment, a tad chagrinned. That had been the drug, not him. But everything else that had led to it, that was his fault. He distracted himself by regarding the silver Christmas garlands adorning the foyer as his stomach contracted and his breath threatened to grow shallow, every second that Gabe didn’t return convincing him that Oswald would refuse to see him, too offended by Jim’s earlier display to grant him the chance to apologize in person. Again. He tugged at his gloves, slipping a finger off only to slide it back on, too suddenly superstitious to presume that he would stay and not be turned out into the cold post haste. His breath clenched in his throat as Gabe returned, his usual serious expression indicating nothing one way or the other.

“He’ll see you,” Gabe said. 

Jim exhaled slowly through his nose. He followed Gabe through the corridor, down a corner to the left, and into the living room, where Oswald waited in front of the fireplace, hands folded behind his back and a pleasant and painfully polite smile on his face. 

“Hello, Jim,” he said. “I didn’t expect to see you back today. Or possibly ever after our meeting.”

The urge to rub the back of his neck as shame cut through him was almost overhwleming. Gabe closed the door behind them, giving Jim the privacy to probably stick his foot in his mouth again. 

“I’m sorry about that. I wasn’t in my right mind.”

“I’m aware of the drug that was afflicting you. You really should stick to homemade eggnog. Much more palatable. And I didn’t take anything you said to heart, don’t worry.”

Oswald slipped his hands into his pant pockets, subtly straightening out his back, his face sharp, dismissive, a mild, guarded smile on his lips. He didn’t want Jim to see his disappointment, but Jim could read him more easily than he thought.

“I meant what I told you.”

Oswald’s smile slipped, confusion wrinkling his brow.

“I wouldn’t have said it the way I did if I had been sober,” Jim continued. “Truth be told, I don’t know if I would have ever said it at all. But I meant it. The drug may have exaggerated a little, but it didn’t invent anything that wasn’t already there.”

Oswald looked completely befuddled. His mouth opened slightly, moving soundlessly for a second.

“You really do feel sorry?” 

“Yes.”

“And you want to date me?”

Fuck, this was awkward as hell. He still wasn’t sure about this, but when his drugged self hadn’t cared about society or personal compunctions instilled after a lifetime of not recognizing part of himself, nothing had been more certain.

“Yes. Look, I’ve—I think the reason why I’ve been such a jerk to you isn’t only because you’re a criminal, but because I like you, and I know that doesn’t make any sense and I shouldn’t have lashed out at you when it was me I didn’t… didn’t like. Not being straight wasn’t an option when I was growing up, okay? It wasn’t even discussed. So I buried it. Didn’t let it be more than passing thoughts. But they occurred so frequently with you. They wouldn’t leave me alone. And I hated it. But this morning, under the influence of that toxin all those worries just vanished. I wasn’t thinking about any of it. I know it’s no excuse for how I treated you. But I need you to know that I was sincere.”

Oswald peered at him, silent and astonished. Jim fidgeted with the coat in his arms.

“You can say something,” he said after a while. 

“Yes.” Oswald lowered his head. “I’m processing what you said.” He looked up again. “I had heard that the drug made people go to those that they’re attracted to, but part of me still thought that might not be the case with you. Although I did notice the way that you look at me. I just didn’t… I didn’t know whether to hope that it would true. My hopes have been dashed before.”

“So. You do like me.”

“Yes. Your observational skills were right about that. But I don’t feel as strongly about you as I used to.”

Jim’s heart sank a little in his chest. Of course. Jim had put Oswald through too much shit for his feelings to remain the same.

“I suspected that you just said that you forgave me to get rid of me. That’s understandable.”

“No, I did mean it, actually. I’m tired of holding onto that grudge. But forget… Well.”

“That one’s harder.”

“Yes. Although what you said does change my perspective quite a bit. But I am going to need more time to consider that date.”

It was Jim’s turn to gape in bewilderment.

“And you need to work out some things about your identity first,” Oswald continued. “Rushing headlong into anything with us both unsure would help nothing. I can help you with that, if you want. I don’t figure you have many queer friends to talk to.”

“Are you serious? And no, I don’t. But, you really would consider dating me?”

“It’s not a yes. And not right now. But it’s not completely off the table. But we have a lot of rebuilding to do.”

Jim nodded.

“Of course. Um, thanks. I mean, for not just kicking me out.”

“Of course not. What are friends for?”

“You really mean that? Friends?”

“That depends. Do you mean it this time?”

Jim didn’t have to think about it anymore. He had done enough of that this evening.

“Yes.”

Oswald smiled, a genuine smile this time.

“Great.” He stepped back, holding out his arm to indicate one of the twin chairs before the fireplace. “Please sit. We’ve barely scratched the surface of what we need to talk about.”

Jim sank gratefully into the armchair. The leaden weight that had been oppressing him only loosened the slightest tad, but he raised his head, met Oswald’s astonishingly understanding eyes, and breathed clearly for the first time in the entire day.


End file.
